fick
Registered User
As I entered the therapy room several pairs of eyes looked towards me, there was even the odd nodded acknowledgement. I pressed on into the room hoping that many of these unfortunates would be salvageable.
I surveyed the fidgeting masses for a few seconds before taking my seat and introducing myself.
Then it was their turn.
Sat directly to my left and the first to introduce himself was a colourful character named Cookie. His intro was surprising; the patient notes merely had “communication issues”, yet the quickly drawn picture of himself waving and saying hello had shown an obvious and inventive talent. It had soon dawned however that Cookie’s linguistic skills were that of a two year old.
To his left was Dale. Dale appeared fairly normal, apart from the yellow shirt and the fact he was leaning heavily against Cookie. Dale was a recovering alcoholic with a history of public nuisance offences and was attending the session thanks to his last wild bender. The court had been lenient and suspended his sentence in the hope some counselling might help him straighten up. He hiccupped a ‘hiya mate’, before drifting back into a comatose state.
The gentleman next to Dale, while somewhat perturbed by the alcoholics’ odour, introduced himself quite eloquently. His name was Barry. Barry seemed ordinary. Until I realised his feet were not actually touching the floor. There was something about him not liking to get his feet wet and sinking ground, but as yet it didn’t make too much sense.
The man next to Barry however could not be described as normal. Constantly looking over his shoulders and muttering, albeit in incomprehensible babble, his nervous disposition and apparent paranoia meant he barely acknowledged the circle of people around him. I checked his file. Dundons. Schitzotypal. Capitalised letters warned not to get involved in deep discussions on anything vaguely governmental or conspiratorial.
Next was a diminutive creature. While not as active as Dundons, his eyes stayed rarely still. Viperized half introduced himself before changing the subject to some southern football team of little notoriety, soon switching to another altogether different yet still uninteresting topic. His notes hinted towards ADD, I feared it may be worse. AFC.
The next attendee was sat almost directly opposite and fortunately the furthest away. He was a vile snarling creature, still bound in his straight jacket. His file was splattered with the blood of an unfortunate clerk amongst other, as yet unidentified, stains. Psycho – Prison referral – anger management and self control issues. He was only a few months into a ten year stretch for aggravated assault with sado-masochistic undertones and a side order of buggery. His name was Barndoor. “Cunt”. He said.
Pausing only briefly to acknowledge my existence before continuing to lecture Barndoor on what seemed to be anything and everything was Original? His social skills appeared very good, the structure of his language and the intellect required to purvey his ideas were way above the general level of the group. The only hints towards his histrionic personality were his desire to be heard, even by vulgar creatures like Barndoor, his ineffable charm and the obvious question mark after his name.
Genuflecting quietly to the side of Original? Was TheBishop. He had been labelled as having multiple personality disorder but frankly he seemed almost permanently stuck in his alter ego. He blessed me then continued in quiet prayer.
To TheBishops left was Nath. Nath had what had been described as the worst cast of Stoke depression known to man. I have to admit my knowledge of Stoke depression is limited although there is something about it being a long throw from normal depression.
The penultimate in the circle was another small, insignificant character. Going by the name Meyyappen, he was a classic case of Asperger Syndrome. His inability to interact socially was more than evident as he only communicated rarely and made very little sense. He was also known to have some violent, childlike mood swings. There was a rumour he was one of Barndoors old victims, but nothing was ever proven.
The last of the group was certainly an enigma. His constant witticisms were of generally low quality, but in high quantity. Dragonfly had set an all new humour low and been the first diagnosed case of Ken Dodd syndrome in the UK. His greeting was more of an inane chuckle than an actual sentence. I was pleased his tickling stick was confiscated before the session.
I took a moment to survey the group again. I doubted a wider range of psychological issues had ever been confined to one small space before and I knew there were more in the wards yet to be discovered.
Trying not to despair and using my clipboard as a shield from Barndoor’s spittle, I forged ahead into the session...
I surveyed the fidgeting masses for a few seconds before taking my seat and introducing myself.
Then it was their turn.
Sat directly to my left and the first to introduce himself was a colourful character named Cookie. His intro was surprising; the patient notes merely had “communication issues”, yet the quickly drawn picture of himself waving and saying hello had shown an obvious and inventive talent. It had soon dawned however that Cookie’s linguistic skills were that of a two year old.
To his left was Dale. Dale appeared fairly normal, apart from the yellow shirt and the fact he was leaning heavily against Cookie. Dale was a recovering alcoholic with a history of public nuisance offences and was attending the session thanks to his last wild bender. The court had been lenient and suspended his sentence in the hope some counselling might help him straighten up. He hiccupped a ‘hiya mate’, before drifting back into a comatose state.
The gentleman next to Dale, while somewhat perturbed by the alcoholics’ odour, introduced himself quite eloquently. His name was Barry. Barry seemed ordinary. Until I realised his feet were not actually touching the floor. There was something about him not liking to get his feet wet and sinking ground, but as yet it didn’t make too much sense.
The man next to Barry however could not be described as normal. Constantly looking over his shoulders and muttering, albeit in incomprehensible babble, his nervous disposition and apparent paranoia meant he barely acknowledged the circle of people around him. I checked his file. Dundons. Schitzotypal. Capitalised letters warned not to get involved in deep discussions on anything vaguely governmental or conspiratorial.
Next was a diminutive creature. While not as active as Dundons, his eyes stayed rarely still. Viperized half introduced himself before changing the subject to some southern football team of little notoriety, soon switching to another altogether different yet still uninteresting topic. His notes hinted towards ADD, I feared it may be worse. AFC.
The next attendee was sat almost directly opposite and fortunately the furthest away. He was a vile snarling creature, still bound in his straight jacket. His file was splattered with the blood of an unfortunate clerk amongst other, as yet unidentified, stains. Psycho – Prison referral – anger management and self control issues. He was only a few months into a ten year stretch for aggravated assault with sado-masochistic undertones and a side order of buggery. His name was Barndoor. “Cunt”. He said.
Pausing only briefly to acknowledge my existence before continuing to lecture Barndoor on what seemed to be anything and everything was Original? His social skills appeared very good, the structure of his language and the intellect required to purvey his ideas were way above the general level of the group. The only hints towards his histrionic personality were his desire to be heard, even by vulgar creatures like Barndoor, his ineffable charm and the obvious question mark after his name.
Genuflecting quietly to the side of Original? Was TheBishop. He had been labelled as having multiple personality disorder but frankly he seemed almost permanently stuck in his alter ego. He blessed me then continued in quiet prayer.
To TheBishops left was Nath. Nath had what had been described as the worst cast of Stoke depression known to man. I have to admit my knowledge of Stoke depression is limited although there is something about it being a long throw from normal depression.
The penultimate in the circle was another small, insignificant character. Going by the name Meyyappen, he was a classic case of Asperger Syndrome. His inability to interact socially was more than evident as he only communicated rarely and made very little sense. He was also known to have some violent, childlike mood swings. There was a rumour he was one of Barndoors old victims, but nothing was ever proven.
The last of the group was certainly an enigma. His constant witticisms were of generally low quality, but in high quantity. Dragonfly had set an all new humour low and been the first diagnosed case of Ken Dodd syndrome in the UK. His greeting was more of an inane chuckle than an actual sentence. I was pleased his tickling stick was confiscated before the session.
I took a moment to survey the group again. I doubted a wider range of psychological issues had ever been confined to one small space before and I knew there were more in the wards yet to be discovered.
Trying not to despair and using my clipboard as a shield from Barndoor’s spittle, I forged ahead into the session...
